


twelve days

by onepercentmilk, Tidalwolf, twopercentmilk (onepercentmilk)



Series: thirteen days [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: .., Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fear, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hair Braiding, Hallucinations, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, If that makes it any better, Kidnapping, Platonic Cuddling, Sleep Deprivation, Swords, Technoblade Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF), The Author Regrets Everything, dw tho it's bc techno is hallucinating, honestly i just need a coping mechanism from the dream smp, how fitting is it that im writing a fic about sleep deprivation while sleep deprived, it really doesnt, lapslock, oh hell yeah im going there, the irony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:00:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onepercentmilk/pseuds/onepercentmilk, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tidalwolf/pseuds/Tidalwolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/onepercentmilk/pseuds/twopercentmilk
Summary: twelve days.two hundred eighty eight hours.seventeen thousand two hundred eighty minutes.one million thirty six thousand eight hundred seconds.ORtechno can't sleep.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: thirteen days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2071584
Comments: 66
Kudos: 292





	1. day one

techno can't sleep.

it's not like he's doing it on purpose. it's all wilbur's fault. it's all his goddamn fault for getting hurt in the first place, ~~for making techno panic~~ and now he's here now.

the glass window in front of him is cool to the touch. outside it lies thousands of stars, scattered like tears over the dark blue sky. it looks like a scene in one of wilbur's "fucking lovey-dovey songs that he wishes he could be a part of" as tommy put it. it was beautiful, in an odd way. the cold glimmer of the stars enveloped the world in a cocoon of calm ~~too calm too calm he hated it this is how his guard gets put down he can't he can't he can't~~. It was nice.

(he knew the "calm" was fake anyway)

* * *

_the sound of a scream, resonating through the forest, had techno running._

_thump, thump, thump goes his heart in his chest, smashing against his rib cage, desperately trying to get oxygen to his legs. they seem to have a mind of their own, leaping over logs and weaving around trees he's memorized like the back of his hand. it sounds just like his feet, pounding against the mossy floor, sending dirt and pebbles askew._

_his braid whips wildly around him, pink tendrils momentarily blocking his vision. he can barely process the sound of someone crying out in pain, and my god does he see_ red.

_the whimpers are getting louder as he moves along. a thought clicks in his head and dread lays heavy in his heart. it's wllbur. fucking wilbur, who never learned to wield a sword and instead learned the fingerings on a guitar. who trained his voice instead of his attack patterns. who would rather sing than fight._

_wilbur, his brother. defenseless and in pain._

_somehow, the thought of that propels his legs faster. he can hear phil flapping over him, yelling at him to slow down, but he pays no heed. hand steady on the poisoned dagger at his hip, other arm preparing a bow and arrow._

_his breaths come out heavy and fast, chest heaving under his flowy white blouse. the red sash around his waist feels to constricting, restricting his breath. he tears it off and it falls to the floor._

_he's losing track of how long he's been running. all he knows is that his body has become his slave, rushing through the forest, getting whipped by leaves and tree roots. he needs to go faster._

_a mental image of wilbur, lying in a pool of blood, suffices._

_his legs are practically scoring fault lines in the earth, reckless and tired, one foot in front of the other. he's desperate, trying to get to his brother._

_after what seemed to be an eternity of running, he stumbled upon a scene that feels like it's slashed his heart out of his chest. the worst of his fears had come true._

_wilbur is slumped over on a tree stump, blood dripping-no,_ pouring _\- out of a wound at his side. it's ugly and red, and leaves a dark patch around it. techno's stomach twirled and twisted into knots as he stared, dumbstruck. his bow and arrow dropped from his hand_

 _a_ _laugh, high and pitchy, made him look over. it's a man with a white mask, with a crudely drawn smiley face on it. he's cackling, voice pitching out at some moments. not too far off from a wheeze. the sheer audacity of it makes his hands twitch to his dagger._

_"_ _i've heard quite a lot about you, blood god." he says. "though i didn't expect that it would only take one person to get you this incapacitated." it takes a moment for techno to completely understand. when he does, he glares at him._

_"who the nether are you?" he asks, voice steady. it's hiding the pure fury beneath it._

_"dream" the masked man shoots back at him. "though i'm you're worst nightmare." the tone to that is playful. he can practically see "dream" winking at him, though the mask covers his face. techno makes a hissing noise. each moment he wastes is another moment he could be beating this man into the ground and saving his brother, for ender's sake._

_as if sensing his frustration, the man speaks again, ignoring the fact that techno hasn't answered his snarky comment._

_"aw, is this widdle piggy mad that his bwother is dying?" dream says in a mocking tone. techno's red irises flash, their blood red burning with fiery hatred._

_without a word, techno jumps up, slender legs propelling him forward. he lands behind the masked man and crouches, swinging his leg forward. ~~he did this on wilbur once-.~~ he's hoping that it'll make dream trip._

_dream turns to him just as his boot is making contact with his leg. unexpectedly, he jumps up from the air and lands behind techno, putting him into a vulnerable position._

_f_ _uck._

_he can hear the telltale noises of someone unsheathing a weapon. he scrabbles away in time for a netherite axe, glimmering with enchantments, to just_ barely _miss him. a puff of air escapes his lips. adrenaline is rushing through his body._

_the thrill of a fight is too enticing to skip out on._

_he takes his dagger from his hip and stands, poison glinting on it's razor sharp edge. a grin inches onto dream's face, and the real fight begins._

_knife against axe, techno knows he's at an inherent disadvantage. the sheer power of the thing that dream is throwing around is deadly._

_but again, so is techno._

_he lunges in again, running speedily. he just needs to hit one major artery. that'll be enough._

_dream seems to anticipate this. and he moves out of the way, fast as a flash. but not fast enough._

_next thing techno knows, his hand is bleeding, barely holding dream's axe back as he stabs into his thigh. blood is already oozing out of the wound._

_"ah. wither, i see. clever." dream's voice wavers a bit. the poison is painful. techno should know from experience._

_"it looks like our battle is going to have end here, blood god." he says. techno simply glares at him again. it gets a chuckle out of dream. it's almost pitiful, how choked out it sounds._

almost.

_dream removes his axe from techno's hand, and limps off somewhere. techno can't bother to try and find him. once the wither poison get's his heart, he'll be a goner. there's no point in hunting him down now._

_and when phil sees his two sons, one unconscious, the other cradling the other one in his arms, he says nothing. all he does is take them back home._

* * *

techno shivers at the memory. it's his fault, isn't it? ~~he should've protected wilbur it's all his fault he hates him he's worthless no one should love him he's terrible his fault his fault his fault his fault his fault~~

 _of course not,_ the rational part of him says.

still, he doesn't sleep the whole night.

* * *

the moment techno sees the sunrise, it's like heaven and hell all at once.

he's finally seeing wilbur ~~wilbur is going to hate him anyway.~~

dragging himself from the window, he stretches his sore muscles. from the semi-transparent reflection, he can tell he looks like shit. pale faced, purple eye bags and tangled pink hair. he has scratches and bruises from when he was running to find wilbur ~~he wasn't fast enough.~~

techno shrugs off his sleepwear, and goes to his dresser. white button up blouse. black slacks that are snug on his hips. velvet sash, red cape. and his crown. each item of clothing, methodically put on. it's like he's clinging to whatever normal things he has in his life.

~~nothing can be normal anymore.~~

he holds a horsehair brush in his hand ~~wilbur used to help him with this~~ , the rough bristles sliding through his hair with some difficulty. the knots really are something else. each stroke needs a bit of man power with it, but eventually, his hair is smooth and flowly once more. he grabs an elastic band and ties it into a neat ponytail.

the sun is barely creeping through the sky. he might as well get this over with now.

* * *

walking to wilbur's room feels alien yet familiar at the same time. the same hallways, the same door, the same everything, never mind a few minor details. it's always been this way.

so why is techno panicking? why is his heart beating in his chest so fast? ~~he knows it's because he's scared the person he loves will hate him~~ he doesn't know.

he pauses at the door for a second. it's clear wilbur's awake. he can hear a guitar's gentle tune, accompanied by wilbur's voice. the ghost of a smile makes it onto techno's face. if he's singing, he must be feeling a bit better ~~he's just going to ruin his mood.~~

he opens the door, and light floods through. the smell of lilacs and the ocean ~~and blood~~ drifts out, something he'd known for a while. it calmed him ~~the iron scent scared him~~ , and he walked through the door.

wilbur stopped strumming his guitar, and looks over to techno. he looks terrible. he's pale and skinny and has light bags under his eyes (though they aren't half as bad as techno's). his nails are cracked and nibbled on, and techno could see bruises and scratches peeking out from under his shirt.

~~it's all techno's fault~~

"hey tech!" he cheerily says, like he wasn't fucking stabbed a mere twenty four hours ago. "how are you today?"

techno smiles a bit ~~it's fake~~

"i'm fine. how 'bout you?" he says back. he's gingerly avoiding the topic of ~~wilbur almost getting killed~~ the accident ~~like a fucking coward.~~

wilbur lets out a laugh at that. "about as good as you can be after getting stabbed."

techno winces a bit at that.

~~they don't talk about it for the rest of the day~~

* * *

tommy is trying to feed wilbur when techno comes downstairs.

phil is sleeping on the oak table top. he'd been so frantic that night, trying to stop the bleeding as best as he could. he succeeded in the end, but it left wilbur weak and tired. techno couldn't blame him. there'd been so much blood ~~and he didn't event try to help.~~

phil has stress lines on his forehead, and his wings droop, caved around him as if trying to protect him. ~~techno wishes he could protect him, he could protect them all~~

"hey technoblade!" tommy rowdily yells from his seat at the table. techno nods to him in response. he just doesn't have the energy to verbally response tommy, seemingly satisfied, pushed a bowl of stew in front of him. techno raises an eyebrow (the last time tommy made food, he'd poisoned the whole family and lit the kitchen on fire).

tommy sighs. "dad made it, not me. if i did, he would've killed me." techno nods again. the rich smells coming off the food make his stomach twist and turn.

he pushes the bowl away. "i'll eat later."

~~he doesn't~~

* * *

the sun set under the horizon, and techno finds himself sleepless once more.


	2. day two

techno is the only one awake.

he knows he should be sleeping. his body needs it. his eyes droop, his muscles ache, and his head pounds against his skull. but sleep evades him.

tossing and turning is all he knows, and the night seems eternal. 

toss.

~~you let everyone down.~~

turn.

~~you couldn't even protect the people you love~~

toss.

~~they don't love you, you know.~~

turn.

~~they should hate you.~~

toss.

~~everyone hates you.~~

turn.

~~you hideous beast.~~

he snaps up. the voices need to stop. 

(he knows they won't)

~~they're right anyway~~

* * *

that's how technoblade finds himself in the mob infested forest beside his house. he nearly died here ~~he should've died here~~ , when he was ten. thought it'd be a good idea. it was in fact, not a good idea.

he'd remembered how scared he'd been, the wolves howling in the night ~~screaming for his demise,~~ zombies groaning ~~desperate for human flesh. his flesh~~ and skeletons rattling about ~~his bones should've been like theirs; stripped clean of the person they once held.~~

that's when he picked up a sword for the first time. he'd killed and he'd killed and he'd killed, all with one thought in mind: to survive. he couldn't exactly remember what it was like. it was all a haze of blood and gore. when phil had found him the next morning he'd been covered in blood.

~~not a single drop was his.~~

~~he'd become a fucking monster right then and there.~~

he shakes his head, trying to get rid of those invasive thoughts. ~~he's ignorant of their truth.~~ he had a job to do. 

taking off his needless iron armor (he doesn't even know why he brought it; he wouldn't use it anyway), he calmly takes out a netherite axe. ~~here he is, just like dream. just as much of a bloodthirsty _thing_ without a regard to what he would use that axe for.~~

the axe is heavy. it glimmers softly in the night, and an unnatural heat emanates off of it, like it's taken a piece of the nether ~~he should be burning in the nether he shouldn't be alive he's too weak~~ with it. it reminds techno of flapping feathers and nights by the fire ~~and burning villages caused by his destructive hand.~~

it feels comforting. something that feels like home ~~the house of destruction he's built around him~~ in a place otherwise ~~peaceful~~ unfamiliar. 

his eyes droop lazily. he forces them open ~~'cause all he sees when he closes them is the blood oozing from wilbur's body~~ so he'll be more alert, and readies himself to face the swarm of mobs coming out at midnight.

when the first zombie comes, it's easy. the head comes off in what clean swipe of the axe, leaving a trail of putrid blood behind in it's wake. he can hear more behind it, brain dead and lacking the intelligence to know they're going to be destroyed. to know they never stood a chance. techno grins.

it's begun.

~~the monster is unleashed.~~

the _clack clack clack_ of a skeleton signals him to look up from the horde of zombies approaching him. it's only one, armed with arrows. he can see the soulless eye sockets staring exactly where it wants to hit him.

techno jumps.

the arrow hits the mossy patch he was on not a second too late.

a maniacal urge to _kill_ comes over him. he's outnumbered by hundreds. ~~that only makes it better~~. slashing and hacking and fighting, he belongs here more than he ever did ~~with people who shouldn't love him anymore~~ before. the hiss of a creeper, the rattling of skeletons, the pitter patter of spider feet. the groans of zombies, the wooshing noises of endermen teleporting. it's all a symphony, a grand crescendo of noises and techno _relishes_ it. he savors in the breaking of bones as skeletons fall to the ground, in the curling of the spiders limbs when he get's a particularly good slash on it. he feels the rush in his veins with each hot splatter of blood on his body (who knows who's it is at this point), each satisfying clunk of his axe right before the creeper can explode, the screams of the endermen as he lands a final hit before they can teleport away. 

this is a dance, and he is the graceful dancer who delivers. weave, slash, duck. dodge, stab, jump. it's almost art, with how he's like water, moving through all the mobs till their are none left. ~~it's inhuman~~.

and when the adrenaline leaves his body and no mobs remain in sight, the sun rises and techno realizes how tired he is.

* * *

he's assessing his injuries when tubbo comes in through the door.

tubbo's nice. tommy found him in the nearby village ~~the village he destroyed with his own hands and a torch~~ a couple years ago, covered in burn scars ~~the burn scars he made.~~ he and tommy are often glued at the hip.

 ~~tommy sometimes still gets mad whenever he sees the slight marks still leftover from the fire.~~ ~~~~

"hey techno." his voice is light, airy. the complete opposite of tommy's hoarse, almost perpetually rough sounding voice.

"hey tubbo." goddamn, he sounds like shit. nothing that a bit of resting won't fix.

"sorry to ask, but uh, what's all the blood for? was i not invited to a food fight using exclusively ketchup?" he laughs nervously at the end, before quieting down awkwardly. techno nods to him once.

"nothing that you need to know, tubbo. now don't say a word."

he can only hope that he was intimidating enough for tubbo to take the warning and not tell anyone.

as soon as the clicking sound of tubbo's shoes fades away, techno turns to his wounds. a few nasty bites here, one or two arrows embedded in various places of his body. nothing he can't deal with.

his hands are methodical, slowly taking out the arrows and smearing on a healing ointment that phil picked up from the market a few weeks ago. once those are wrapped, he moves onto the bites.

zombie bites aren't particularly dangerous. though their saliva is prime breeding ground for bacteria, it's often just a quick rinse and bandaging away from being healed. still, he takes his time. a warm, damp towel is used to clean any residual dirt, and he switches to a smoother cloth with rubbing alcohol on it to get out the saliva and his own blood. it stings a bit. ~~just like his heart stings from guilt.~~

the bandages hide underneath long sleeves and a family remains oblivious for another day.

* * *

tommy is warily eying him at the table when he comes downstairs for brunch. looks like he tubbo didn't take the warning. techno ignores the eyes ghosting over his pristine white sleeves and pushes the food around on his plate. everything looks blurry.

he's a bit distraught to find that his eyes aren't focusing anymore. he hides the nervousness under a practiced face of indifference, but the worry pulling at his gut rids any sort of appetite he may have. instead, he drinks water in hopes that it'll stop the pounding in his head. it does help a bit, but does nothing for the sheer exhaustion in his limbs, the heaviness of his eyelids.

wilbur's been feeling a bit better nowadays, but there's still an air of melancholy in the house, a stench that pervades in every room in the house. right now, he's cheerily conversing with phil about who knows what. techno decidedly doesn't hear them when they quietly ~~not quiet enough~~ ask each other about the bags under his eyes.

techno tries holding his hand out on the table, trying to make it look as casual as possible. things look smudged, like someone blended them all together. objects at the edges of his eyes look fuzzy and he can't identify anything that's farther than a foot away. techno is panicking.

he relies on his sight for fighting almost as much as he does his arms and legs and brain. it leaves him feeling blinded and without a sense, weak and vulnerable. he hates it. ~~he supposes this is what it feels like for all those people who's eyes he gouged out in the arena.~~

tommy opens his mouth and techno hears the very thing he was anticipating.

"so techno came in at five am this morning with a bunch of injuries and shit.", tommy drawls. his otherwise carefree tone hides volumes of hurt and pain that techno understands from the moment the words come out of his mouth.

never had such a rudimentary statement given techno such a fright.

 ~~he'd seen that terrified look on phil's face before.~~ ~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this should just be called: how to abuse the strike option.


	3. day three

phil thought that he'd done a good job raising his kids. wilbur, techno, tommy and tubbo. all of them more precious to him than he could put into simple words. they'd all equally reciprocated his love, but techno was always a bit of an issue.

he found him in the nether, back when techno was only seven. he'd been too skinny, too scarred and eyes too dull for a child his age. he was looking for blaze rods in a nether fortress when he found a small boy with long pink hair and skin too pale for that hell scape.

even then, he'd been deadly.

* * *

_phil ruffled his wings, the fiery embers of the nether occasionally ghosting over the leathery surface. he'd left wilbur back home (god, he hoped that he wouldn't do anything with the kitchens again) in his search for blaze rods. the nether was a dangerous place. it was an easy and firm decision to let wilbur stay home. after all, he'd much rather be plucking the strings of the guitar he found in the shed than adventuring._

_his eyes, drifting over the lava and fire ravaged lands, saw a dark red fortress. bingo. he readied his armor and made sure his sword was ready. the iron clunked uncomfortably against his chest and legs, the iron cap an unwelcome change from his normal bucket hat. but all were necessary, unfortunately. he spread his wings (he marveled at them still, from time to time. they were black and held purple undertones, with their surface rough on the edges and softer near the middle. it was a wonder, what strength they held. the ability to lift a grown man off his feet with multiple pieces of cargo) and took to the air._

_flying in the nether wasn't a pleasing experience. the hot air around his body was dry and devoid of moisture, cutting through his long black jacket and kimono at the slightest movement. his wings felt heavy on his back, feeling more like he was carrying them more than they were carrying him. phil was glad that it was just a quick fly over. the lava beneath him made his heart falter in his chest a bit. for all their set backs, wings in the nether really did help._

_just as he landed on the ridge, he heard jeering noises, grunts and snorts. hoglins. there was something different though. a sick pulling in phil's stomach, as if it were beckoning him to follow. (he'd never been one for rash decisions, but maybe just this once-)_

_he turned on his heel and walked away._

_just as he was approaching the blaze spawn, another uproar of sound caught his attention. but this time, there was something underneath it. jubilant cheers and tearful grunts echoed around the cavernous fortress. and, most shockingly, the sound of a child._

_and that's how he found him. flapping his wings frantically, phil flew down the empty corridors, seeking out that human cry in such a monstrous place. a small boy, no older than wilbur was, wielding a bloody golden sword, facing adversary after adversary. phil watched in horror as piglin after piglin, some on hoglins, some with enchanted armor, charged at the boy as spectators watched. it was some sort of arena, with the "players" on a netherack slab, floating precariously over a pool of lava._

_it was horrendous._

_phil watched with a sort of mesmerized state as the boy slashed down opponent after opponent. tactics he'd never seen the boldest of warriors employ were used without hesitation, sword used like it was nothing. this kid... he wasn't ordinary._

_suddenly, the boy dropped to the ground. it appeared that sheer exhuastion had won him out. phil took that as his cue to grab him and fly back to the portal._

_(he never forgot how fucking light the boy had been as he carried him home)_

* * *

as techno sees phil's eyes widen in horror, he knows he needs to run. he's only seen that look once before ~~when he brought wilbur home bleeding ender there was so much fucking blood he couldn't stop it it was terrible wilbur was dying he was dying because techno was too weak~~ , after the accident.

he never wanted to see that look on his face again. even with his blurred vision, he knows each line etched onto his face, the sheer horror and shock in his eyes. he knows he can't bear to think of it. ~~he knows he caused it.~~

there's a pit of guilt in his heart, swallowing him up from the inside. he knows why it happened. he knows why everything bad is happening. it's his fault. it's his fault for being too weak, for being too much of a coward. 

phil opens his mouth to speak.

~~he's going to kick you out~~

~~he hates you~~

~~you hurt his sons~~ ~~~~

~~you never belonged here anyway~~

techno runs.

he runs through the halls he's known since birth, he runs as fast as he can. legs pumping up and down, arms gripping at the dagger he always keeps in his pocket (he can't recognize the cool metal feel anymore. it bothers him), breaths coming deep and fast. his body is a mere slave to him now, his tired limbs moving sloppily and without coordination. he can hear phil yelling to him. he knows he should turn back, that he should explain. ~~they shouldn't have to associate with someone as weak as him, as dumb and stupid and cowardly as him.~~

each thump of his legs sends a shudder up his spine. five more steps till he can get to his room. four more.

three.

two.

one.

the door to his room bursts open, with phil right behind him. a small voice in techno's head chuckles at him. how confused phil must be, seeing his eldest suddenly running from dinner tables and jumping out windows. he shushes the incessant voice, matters at hand more important. he needs to get to the window, right next to his desk and partially covered by classic literature. it's his escape. it's his sanctuary ~~of blood.~~

he practically shatters the windows with how hard he pulls them out, and he jumps, dagger sliding out behind him as his arm instinctively reaches out to try and grip the window sill, before faltering and instead hitting something. he doesn't know what it is. he can't feel anything but numbness in his fingers.

something warm is on his hand, though.

~~he knows it's blood.~~

~~and he knows who's blood it is.~~

at least phil can't come after him now.

but as techno runs through the forest, ~~away away away he needs to get away,~~ the last glance of phil holding his injured wing and staring as he runs into the thick forestry is almost too much for HIM to handle.

* * *

how long has it been?, techno thinks to himself.

the sky is a ~~blood~~ red color. it was blue when he left. he's probably been trekking for hours, at this point. he doesn't know where he's going at all. all he knows it away, away, away.

he must seem crazed.

he looks at his hands. he's horrified to see blood.

but he washed his hands off in a stream, he doesn't understand-

~~no matter what you do, technoblade, that blood will remain on you.~~

techno stumbles, looking around for the voice. the peaceful forest has turned into a bloodied battlefield, strewn with bodies. he is the only one left standing.

~~this is what you threaten your family to become, techno. you are weak. the more you stay with them, the more you endanger them. they will drown in the blood that you spill. the blood that you take for your own selfish heart.~~

techno shakes his head. no. that's not right. he is strong. he has taken down armies before with his sword and without armor, he's _protected_ them and he's loved them till his heart hurt.

~~you don't protect them. you only threaten them with death.~~

techno wildly looks around, searching frantically for the voice. he'll stab it through it's mouth and make sure it'll never talk again ~~that's why he's a monster~~. he's technoblade for ender's sake he is not weak he protects those he loves he is strong-

~~you're a monster, technoblade. you kill. you do nothing to protect. you can't protect. you're not physically able to.~~

"what do you mean i'm a monster? you claim me to be such a beast yet still say i am weak? you make no sense!" techno shouts, tears running down his face. he's so tired, goddammit. so tired of fighting the voices in his head, so tired of _becoming_ the voices. he just wants to be with his family and be _safe_.

the blurred, bloodied field offers no comfort.

~~i am you, technoblade. you know exactly what i mean. you can't go back. you'll kill them all at your monstrous hand and fail to protect them like you claim you will.~~

"shut up shut up shut up-" techno whispers, holding his head in his hands. he's sunk to his knees now, trembling and shaking. this isn't real. he is not on a battlefield full of bodies and that wasn't a wing he saw in that pile and no he doesn't see a familiar sweater or a hand marred with burns or a red bandana on the ground and _gods he must've killed them he really is a monster-_

~~_monster._ ~~

"stop.." he weakly sobs into his knees. blood is coating him everywhere, his hair and his boots and his cape, and he doesn't understand at all.

_~~murderer.~~ _

"stop!" the scream is guttural and rips it's way out of his throat. it tears him apart and leaves him gasping for air as blood flows from the hills, staining his white shirt, _drowning him_ as it makes it's way to the treetops

~~_**you don't deserve them** _ ~~

he's engulfed in blood now, and it's drowning him and he can't breathe and he's going to die here in a pool of what remains of his slain enemies. he's going to die here and it's his fault.

~~i hope to talk to you again, technoblade.~~

a few air bubbles gurgle to the surface of the otherwise still layer of bright red liquid, ruby red and forever staining his hands. the hands of a dead tyrant.

* * *

techno looks up, and the battlefield is no more. only the serene forest and his tears. 

~~he's going insane~~


	4. day four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dRE PERSPECTIVE POGCHAMP WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"dream! you idiot!" george says to him, lightly bonking his head. his face betrays his worry, contrary to his abrasive statement. 

"i'm fine george-" dream responds. he's smiling a bit under his mask.

"no you're not! you moron. you nearly died out there!" george pauses a bit, then looks away. his voice is wavering a bit at the end. and then, a mere whisper: "do you know how deadly wither is? you could've _died_ , dream."

the silence stretches a bit too long for comfort, and the two of them awkwardly part to go.

* * *

techno sits on a rock. is this real? this can't be real.

~~i assure you technoblade, this is very real.~~

shut up _,_ he silently chides the voice in his head. he needs to get moving.

there's a laugh, echoing in his head. it's unlike anything he'd heard before, feminine and masculine, guttural and smooth, high and low, all at once. it sounds terrifying. he hates it.

(it brings back memories of laughing voices and warm-hearted smiles he doesn't want to remember.)

he knows he should be moving. there are mobs sure to be coming. and with his current mental and physical state, techno isn't sure how well he'd be able to fend them off.

~~weak.~~

he does a run through of all the injuries he's collected. he needs to treat those first. a couple shards of glass here and there, bruises across his body from the impact of falling from a window, and he realizes that his ankle is swelled and sends bolts of pain up his leg when he puts it down. great.

he then looks over the mental injuries he's amassed. first, the inability to focus on objects. it's like a sense has been robbed from him. he relies on sight, more so than every other sense. next, the loss of feeling in his extremities. it must've been why he couldn't feel the sprain until he really strained it. that's going to be a set back in the long run, he sighs to himself. third, the incoordination. every piece of his body feels like jelly, like he's flopping around his limbs rather than actually moving. its scares him; he doesn't have complete control over his body. sleep deprivation has gripped it to the point where it's more like he's a puppet on it's string. and finally, the newly added hallucinations.

that scares him the most. nothing can be trusted to be real anymore

he can still see the blood on his hands. he's given up trying to scrub it off. the shining red stains the pale skin there, glittering up at him. he hates it.

~~you know who's blood it is, technoblade.~~

no, i don't. i refuse to know who's blood it is, techno thinks _._ he wants to bash his head against the floor until the voice is gone and all he can hear is ringing. 

~~how pathetic. you think you can escape the voices in your own head?~~

he grits his teeth. ignore it ignore it ignore it _ignoreitignoreitignoreit-_

the voice quiets.

he repeats this like a mantra in his head, making the long walk to a stream. he hasn't had a drink in hours. he'll need it, to both treat his injuries in whatever minimal way he can and to keep himself from going any crazier. he's heard stories of people driven mad by thirst, forced to drink their own blood in their desperation. 

his foot is sending jolts of pain, white and hot and searing, up his leg. he briefly recalls advice phil gave him when tommy sprained his arm: " _you wanna try and put something cool on the sprain as to decrease the swelling."_

he ignores how his heart aches at the familiar thought of his dad.

~~it's for the best.~~

(he doesn't try and combat the voice again)

* * *

he's cleaning his wounds when a familiar voice startles him out of the repetitive voices.

_you look a bit fucked up there, son._

his heart drops when he realizes it's phil. phil, of all people.

this can't be real.

_this is real, techno. guess we all have to grow up and face reality sometime, eh?_ it has the same teasing tone that phil's does whenever techno stubbornly refuses to do something. normally it's a welcome tone.

he hates it now.

"you're not real..." techno whispers, covering his ears. the moon is high in the night sky and turns the stream around him a silvery color. it reminds him of the tips of phil's wings, glimmering with something ethereally beautiful.

he refuses to believe that those same wings are waving in front of his face right now.

_ah. how we waste time bickering over these things._ phil's voice is light, almost stern but hiding a little bit of humor. techno can almost recall every incident where he used it. when tommy and tubbo messed up the living room. when techno forgot to eat again. when wil would leave his instruments scattered about his room.

"you're not real." technoblade repeats this again, voice a bit more steady and loud. he wants to drown out his dad's voice, to make it disappear. maybe if he talks loud enough, he'll leave.

(he knows that won't work)

_i won't bother trying to convince you anymore. point is, we want you gone. we don't want you to be with us anymore. you only bring destruction._

he already knows that, techno reasons. ~~doesn't stop it from being true. face the facts, technoblade.~~

_we don't see why we would love you anyway._

that last part stays blazed into techno's mind as he continues to attempt treating his wounds.

* * *

techno's arms are tired. he'd spent the whole day trekking across a forest and climbing tress. for now, he sits on a tall willow tree. not terribly sturdy, but hidden in a clump as to ward off any mobs or people looking for him.

~~it's doubtful that any people will be looking for him.~~

(techno makes a point to ignore that)

he mentally ticks off everything he's done. bruises dabbed with cold water? yes. ankle set in a torn piece of cloth? check. cuts cleaned? done.

he avoids the fact he can no longer see things properly, is hallucinating, and can't walk without tripping anymore. ataxic gait, he remembers one of the medical books say. typically caused by neurological degeneration. perfect. just great.

he guesses that his sleep deprivation is the cause of it.

~~he can't sleep~~

the voice is back again. this time, it isn't mercilessly attacking him. rather, it's almost inquisitive. like it's waiting for him to fill in the blanks. techno chuckles a little. he'll humor the voice. what else has he got to lose?

he knows why he can't sleep. there's really no reason to ask the voice. he decided it himself the very first night that wilbur had been hurt. it's almost silly now, now that he's accepted the fact that's he's run away. why did he run away in the first place? he really can't remember anymore.

he just knows he has to stay far, far away from his family or he'll end up hurting them more.

maybe he'll just live in the forest, silently protecting his family till he drops from sheer exhaustion. maybe then he'll be less of a burden. maybe then, he'll actually have done something to help his family instead of threatening to lead his trail of blood and enemies to them.

he almost laughs at this thought, suddenly feeling a bit delirious. his eyelids feel heavy, but he forces them open. he tries to help his family but only brings bloodshed to them. he hides yet he years to be with them. what is he doing? he doubts he could answer.

~~technoblade. you only want to protect your family.~~

techno slowly nods. his head feels to heavy and his body to unstable.

~~then go far, far away from them.~~

he's confused at this? won't he only hurt them more if he goes away?

but then he remembers dream. and he remembers who exactly suffered because of dream. his brother by everything but blood. things suddenly become clearer for technoblade.

he causes their suffering.

* * *

it's both too loud and too quiet at night.

techno never really noticed before. but now, with his sight blurry and unfocused, he's relying heavily on his ears. and that's when, for the first time, he really hears what the night sounds like.

crickets chirp. they sound cheerful and happy. techno's ears strain to hear them.

an owl hoots. predatory, sharp. they could kill a mouse in one fell swoop.

a zombie groans. a little pinprick of fire still left in him, still not doused with blood, beckons him to kill it. he can't bring himself too. he's too tired.

and finally, the sound of his own breathing. there's a bit of a wheeze to it, a struggle. in, out, pause. in, out, pause.

it's too loud.

but then, it's too quiet. he can't hear the familiar sounds of phil's late night flights, the fluttering of wings as he freely flies in the sky next to his window. he can't hear wilbur singing tommy and tubbo to sleep, his soothing voice lulling the whole house into a sense of peace. he always thought of it as too loud, when he was still there.

he'd rather have it too loud than too quiet.

as techno is threading a couple fingers in his hair, making loose braids, he hears a crack. the hairs on his neck stand on end, and his hand grips at the knife concealed in his shirt. (he used the rest of his cloak for bandages. a pity, considering how cold the night could get)

he peers down from his perch and sees a faint outline of a person, holding a torch in one hand. though the branches of the willow trees, he can make out the reflection of what seem to be circular glasses with white rims. his mind buffers for a bit, before getting a bit panicked. why is this man so deep in the forest?

~~why does he feel like this can only end badly?~~

another crack, and then the sound of boots kicking a pebble.

"fucking stupid.... goddamn idiot... moronic asshole.... fuck you, dream" he hears little snippets of what seems to be a very angry person. their angered voice betrays a quiet worry, hiding underneath in an undercurrent of their voice. it sounds male, with a british accent. it would be soothing, if it weren't for what he was saying. quite angry, that one. 

it only registers a second later as to what he was actually saying. techno's blood runs cold as he realizes.

dream is still out there.

and this man _knows_ him.

(an idea sparks in techno's mind.)


	5. day five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh my god aoejdiowrahdrwg so sorry for the pause in writing, i had to finish my applications for a school-  
> but anyway: thanks for all the support! you're all crazy: we hit 1k hits in 2 days. thank you :D

_"dream..." george started hesitantly. he knew his words would have to be carefully chosen._

_it had been five days since the argument. dream and george had hardly talked, and instead let the silence speak for them. whenever dream was in camp, george conveniently went hunting. whenever they had to tend to issues together or go on supply runs, george simply isolated himself._

_he was getting tired of this game of back and forth._

_dream turned to him, smiley mask effectively hiding any emotion that could give him away. he spoke, raspy and low. it sent shivers up george's spine._

_"what do you want." it wasn't even a question: just a statement, gruff and straightforward._

_george tried again, lowering his voice a little. "i want to talk, dream."_

_dream's hand twitched at his side. george eyed him, his own hand poised above his knife. dream was unpredictable. he'd learned that first hand._

_the tension in the air was tangible, turning the air putrid and sour, clogging his throat and sticking on george's skin. both stared at each other in the silence, neither ready to back down or surrender. geroge felt his breath catch in his throat. how many ways could this end? all these variables swirling in his head, probability and unpredictability joining together in a knot in his stomach._

_dream sighed. the air seemed to loosen, almost as if it were easier to breath. dream was cunning. he knew what he was giving in._

_"if this is a single word about that fucking bastard technoblade, i don't want to hear it."_

**Author's Note:**

> so, the record for longest time without sleep is eleven days and twenty five minutes, held by randy gardner. i kinda feel bad now because i'm making techno stay up more than that, but also not because i find it somewhat relatable. but still, get your seven to ten hours each night. (ten mostly for adolescents).
> 
> most of the symptoms were taken from the beginning of this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dqONk48l5vY  
> timestamp: 0:08-0:38
> 
> kudos and comments are very welcome! nothing feels better than to see comments, both critical and just "hgoijvndvh" from readers!


End file.
